


The Santa Claus

by dracoisalooker76



Category: Recess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 15:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13126755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoisalooker76/pseuds/dracoisalooker76
Summary: Mikey convinces the gang to help him keep Tubby's Christmas Spirit alive after the younger boy is ridiculed for still believing in Santa Claus





	The Santa Claus

**Author's Note:**

> I've never posted a Recess fic before. Call it a quarter-life crisis, but I recently binged all my favorite shows from childhood and rekindled my love for Third Street School and its students (as well as my first OTP, TJ and Spinelli). This fic references the Christmas special, Yes, Mikey, Santa Does Shave, but takes place when the gang is in 10th grade, circa 2007 (if they were in fourth grade when the show ended in 2001, rather than when it started in 1998).
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

... Christmas, 2007...

Our tradition started the way many traditions do, out of a fear of the future.

During our first year out of elementary school, with various different clubs, activities, and schedules attempting to part us like Moses did the sea, we had decided that this is something that we would always do. No matter where we ended up or who we spent the majority of our time with outside of school, we would still arrive to Old Rusty one week before Christmas Eve (or the weekend closest to that if Christmas Eve fell on a weekday) and draw names from TJ's ever-present hat for a Secret Santa exchange.

This year is no different than the last three. We all arrived to Old Rusty on December 16th, a Sunday, one week and one day ahead of Christmas Eve, ready to find out the friend for which we will be buying a gift.

"Alright, you know the drill," TJ says, taking his cap off and putting the six scraps of paper inside. "You get yourself, redraw."

"Let's hope Gus doesn't keep getting himself," Spinelli grumbles, reaching in first. She takes a peek before crumpling the paper and leaning back.

Gus throws his hands in the air. "It's not my fault that my name is always the last one in the hat and I'm always the last the go," he whines. Gretchen motions for him to go next and he takes the opportunity, reaching in and taking one of the five remaining slips. His eyes widen. "This is ridiculous! Why is it always me?"

Spinelli tosses her slip back in with a huff. "Come on, Jarhead! This is gonna take forever!"

"Oh, for God's sake, Spin, you didn't have to throw yours back in!" Vince exclaims.

"Logically, she did," Gretchen cuts in. "Given that Spinelli could not choose herself, we know her slip is not Gus, and you would know who you drew–"

"Not to mention you and Teej can't keep a secret from each other if your life depends on it," Spinelli insists.

Gretchen nods. "Adding in the fact that you and TJ tell each other who you draw every year without fail, the odds that it would remain a secret is–"

"People, people!" TJ says, waving his hat like a surrender flag. Everyone turns. "Okay, how about this? Gus, let's start with you."

Christmas is my favorite time of the year. Where we live, it may not be the typical White Christmas every year, with a fresh coating of snow on the ground and a crisp breeze to bring in the yuletide merriment, but it is still the most beautiful time in our little town. That is due to the overall sense of love in the air. It is the one time of the year when everyone, young and old, can come together and surround themselves in the love they have for each other, enjoying the company of friends and family while sharing laughter and gifts of gratitude.

This year, I already have gift ideas for each of my friends, regardless of whose name I draw from TJ's hat. I've been thinking about this since October and my list is ready to be crossed off. I've already bought my gifts for everyone else. This is the last thing on my list.

Once the names have been successfully drawn, our group of friends split ways and I start my walk toward Kelso's. I know exactly what I am going to get Gus. Mr. Kelso had gotten a model airplane set in the other day and I thought that would be the perfect gift should I draw his name. When Gus saw it yesterday while we were getting frappes, he had nearly started drooling over it. That gift has Gus written all over it.

Mr. Kelso's store is only a short walk from Third Street School, in a small section of Third Street sandwiched between Templeton Avenue and Stedman Road that contains a few storefronts. On the corner of Third and Templeton, I see the familiar red kettle for donations and a man dressed as Santa Claus ringing his bell.

As I near him, the man begins to look less and less like the jolly Saint Nicholas we've all become accustomed to seeing. The man is clean-shaven and as thin as Vince under his red velvet suit, clearly lacking a round belly that shakes like a bowl full of jelly as he laughs.

"Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas," the man says as I drop a few coins in his red kettle.

"Excuse me, but don't you think your appearance is rather hurtful to the children who still believe in Santa Claus?" I ask.

The man considers me for a moment before saying, "Well, being Santa Claus isn't so much about being a jolly fat guy in a red suit as it is giving and friendship and selflessness," he says. "And those traits can come in all shapes, sizes, and colors."

As a child who once believed in Santa Claus even when my friends did not, this logic just doesn't fly. Santa to a child is about appearances and believing the man in the mall really is the man who comes down your chimney every Christmas Eve. Do they ever hire a skinny mall Santa? Or a young one?

So I politely agree to disagree and continue on my way to Kelso's.

The bell dings over the door as I enter and Mr. Kelso's store is busy with patrons. Young kids take up the booths along his far wall, drinking frappes and eating ice cream as they chat with their friends. A few older kids, middle school aged, stand off to the side looking at the comic and magazine wall. But one boy in particular catches my attention, so instead of going to grab the model airplane, I walk to the counter.

Tubby has certainly grown out of the savagery of kindergarten life and in the times that I've seen him around town I know he's grown into a kindhearted and gentle soul who looks out dearly for his friends. He reminds me of myself at his age and perhaps that's why I've always taken a concern in his well-being.

Today he looks distraught. He holds his head on one hand and lackadaisically swirls his straw through a melting strawberry frappe. I take the seat beside him at the counter.

"What's wrong, my friend?"

"Oh, hi, Mikey," he says. "Nothing important. Especially not for a big kid like you."

"Try me."

He sighs and looks up. "My friends all think I'm a baby for still believing in Santa Claus."

While my realization came in the fourth grade, not sixth as I recall Tubby is in, I remember being in a similar situation. I myself still wrote letters to Santa Claus and my friends attempted to tell me that he wasn't real. I took them on a wild goose chase through town trying to prove to them the truth – we went to see a mall Santa, we went to the annual Christmas parade – but in the end, it was up to me when to stop believing, not any of my friends.

Tubby continues while I'm in thought. "I mean, even Hector laughed at me. Cindy always laughs at me for believing in this stuff, and Emma always rolls her eyes, and Jake and Spencer...but Hector? Maybe I am a baby."

I place a hand on his shoulder. "Listen, my little friend, the spirit of this holiday is all in believing. No one can tell you what to believe in – and I remember being your age, with every naysayer trying to destroy my spirit. Don't let them."

The little redhead nods, his eyes bright with a plan. I've seen that look oh so many times before – anyone who grew up with TJ has seen that twinkle.

Tubby leaps from the stool and smiles at me. "Thanks, Mikey!" he says. "I'm going to go drag those non-believers down to the annual Christmas parade. Maybe they'll stop making fun of me when they see the real Santa."

The bell over the door dings with his exit before I can process what he says. My shout of, "Tubby, no!" only attracts the attention of the other patrons, my young redheaded friend already running down the street.

He sincerely took my advice, but he misunderstood it completely.

Oh, no. Oh, no, oh no. This is going to backfire completely, just as it did to me. My "proof" of Santa Claus's existence was as epic of a fail as one can achieve. Our mall Santa removed his beard. The annual Christmas Parade Santa turned out to be Mayor Fitzhugh. If Tubby follows in my footsteps, he's going to be just as distraught later as he is right now. I know I was when the truth came crashing down on me.

I have to fix this mess that I started. But how to do that?

"Afternoon, Mikey, what can I get you?" Mr. Kelso says coming over.

I shake my head. "Nothing right now, Mr. Kelso, but I'll be back!" And with that I sprint out the store just as Tubby had.

Whenever I need a plan, I go to TJ and that's where I head now. I run all the way to Third Street School before I have to slow down, jogging the rest of the way on adrenaline alone. Once I'm on the Detweilers' porch, I take a few moments to catch my breath before I ring the bell.

Despite that, I'm still slightly out of breath when Becky opens the door.

"Are you having a heart attack or something?" she asks.

Oh, Becky, the three and a half years you've spent away at college certainly didn't pull the dormant sweetness from you.

I hear footsteps behind her and then a "who is it?" before Mrs. Detweiler follows her daughter to the door.

"Oh, Mikey! It's good to see you!" she says, ushering me inside. "How's your mom? I've been meaning to give that book back, maybe I can find that–"

"Actually, is TJ home? It's sort of important."

TJ gets his talkative nature from his mother. If you don't stop her, sometimes she can keep you in the doorway for hours.

She nods. "He and Spinelli are in the basement."

"Doing 'homework,'" Becky says, using air quotes. Then she mutters, "as if anyone believes that."

"Oh, Becky," Mrs. Detweiler says, rolling her eyes. She turns to me. "I'm so glad they're in the same English class this year. Spinelli's been such a great influence on him – I don't think he's ever turned in all his assignments on time before."

Becky rolls her eyes. I know that's not what she meant, but I'm not about to get into that right now, so I excuse myself to head downstairs, ready to start my mission.

There's no book in sight when I make it to the bottom of the stairs. Instead the two appear to be wrestling. Spinelli has TJ pinned to the floor for a moment, but he flips her easily. Spinelli's so little compared to the rest of us now that despite all her strength it's hard for her to win nowadays. A lot of times TJ lets her though and lately she hasn't been getting upset with him for doing so. He leans down so their noses are grazing. Their gaze is so intense, I feel guilty for clearing my throat.

Both of their faces glow red when they see me. They scramble to opposite sides of the floor, TJ against the wall and Spinelli with her back to the couch. Since we started high school last year, we've all witnessed this scene play out in front of us, where the two of them dance around the feelings that have been mounting since our days on the Third Street playground, but neither has quite decided they want to put it out there. I know Vince, for one, is sick and tired of all the hand brushing and stares that last a second too long to still be considered platonic. He mentioned in passing that if he got one of them this year for Secret Santa he was just going to lock the two of them in a closet as a present. But I find young love so magical that I wouldn't want to interfere with the course they're meant to take.

"Heya, Mikester," TJ says, his voice suave and his face losing it's cherry hue. "What's up?"

Back to business – it's time to save Tubby's imagination.

"I need your help."

I tell the two of them everything about the conversation at Kelso's and how worried I am that Tubby will get his holiday spirit crushed because of me.

"Isn't Tubby a little old to be believing in Santa Claus?" Spinelli asks. "He's, what, twelve?"

"He's still eleven," I insist. "And his beliefs should be able to be sustained as long as they can – the world is too cruel to rip this away from him now. That's why I need your help to keep Tubby from the harsh realities this close to Christmas."

TJ fiddles with his hat. "Mikey, don't you think that this isn't such a great idea," he says, his hand moving to the back of his neck. "I mean, we don't have a great track record with the whole Santa Claus thing."

"But this will be different!" I exclaim. "With the six of us ready to cut off any of the mishaps we ran into while I was trying to prove Santa's existence to you, there's no way we can fail."

"All I know is that I didn't believe in the old fat guy when I was supposed to and I'm not about to go around telling people I believe in him now," Spinelli says, crossing her arms. "Sorry, Mikey, but the kid's gotta learn the truth sooner or later."

I turn to TJ and I can already see his resolve faltering. He's too good of a guy not to try to protect Tubby from himself.

"Please, TJ?" I clutch my hands together, intertwining my fingers. "I beg of you."

"Teej's family doesn't even celebrate Christmas," Spinelli argues. "How do you expect Tubby to believe you if you use TJ to help?"

She does have a point. Mr. Detweiler's Jewish heritage was masked by his atheism to the point that for most of TJ's early childhood he didn't even realize he was Jewish. His parents had celebrated Christmas when we were younger – the Santa Claus commercialized part, not the Jesus part – but they stopped with the fanfare when TJ stopped believing in Santa himself. They put a winter wreath on their door, but other than that the holiday season isn't the big deal to them that it is to the rest of our families.

But, Spinelli's parents more than make up for the Detweilers' lack of décor on their street. Her mom put a full nativity scene in their front yard this year in addition to their over-the-top decorations they usually do. Spinelli spent three days attempting to permanently short circuit the lights and stole Baby Jesus out of the manger trying to get her parents to cool it, but it didn't work. Her dad's better at the electrics than she is and Scruffy dragged Jesus by the face out of his doghouse thinking it was a new toy.

"Mikey, I get what you're trying to do, but sometimes it's better if they figure it out on their own," TJ says.

"Oh, please, TJ," I whine. "I just don't want Tubby to end up like me."

Spinelli turns to TJ and points a finger at him. "Don't even think about it."

He looks between the two of us and we both know what's going to happen next.

"Okay," he says slowly. "What do you need us to do?"

Spinelli jumps up and puts her hands on her hips. "No! I refuse! I'm not running around town trying to make sure some kid still believes in some fictional fat guy on my last weekend before my parents officially go bonkers!"

"Your parents are already bonkers," TJ says.

"Hey, watch it, Detweiler."

He stands and tugs on the end of one of her French braids. "You said so yourself, your mom's crazy Christmas cheer started early this year," he says in lieu of apology. "So, come on, stop being a Grinch and let's save Christmas for Tubby."

She stares at him, glares at him, for almost a minute before her shoulders slump. "I don't know why I let you talk me into these things," she mumbles.

"Because a young boy's imagination is being compromised on what may be the most magical holiday of the year?" I ask.

She turns to me and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, sure. We'll go with that."

TJ goes into action mode. I'm sent home to grab my bike, head to Gus's to recruit him for the mission, and meet the rest at the parade. TJ and Spinelli are going to get Vince and Gretchen. When Gus and I arrive to our designated meeting place, the four of them are already there, having dropped their bikes in the rack.

"Thank you all so much for coming!" I cheer as Gus and I approach. "I feel like this will be so good for Tubby."

Gretchen pushes her glasses up. "Developmentally, Tubby is approaching the end of the age range where belief in fantastical beings is acceptable. In fact, this absolute devotion may be in response to some doubts he's been having." She shrugs at me. "He won't believe forever, Mikey. It's just psychologically impossible without some sort of abnormality."

"Well, then we can give him one more Christmas season of believing."

Spinelli and Vince glance between each other and roll their eyes.

"Come on, we better get to them before Fitzhugh does," TJ says. "He's already started his campaign for reelection, so who knows what he's gonna say from the float."

Mayor Fitzhugh is always Santa Claus on the final float in the parade. On non-election cycle years, he does a decent impersonation. During his reelection cycles, like this year is, he tends to be a loose cannon.

"There's no way we'll ever find them in this crowd," Spinelli says, kicking some fake snow as we walk aimlessly. It dissolves in a puff against her boot. "This is dumb."

"Hector!" Gus yells.

The other small redhead in Tubby's group of friends turns at the sound of his name and waves. Around him, I can see the others – Tubby and their four friends, Emma, Cindy, Spencer, and Jake.

"It's a Christmas miracle," Spinelli deadpans.

"Gus!" Hector greets us, as we make our way through the crowd to the group of sixth graders. "Are you all here for the parade too? Tubby is convinced Santa Claus is coming."

Emma and Cindy giggle together.

"Santa Claus is coming, my friends," I say, resting a hand on Hector's and Tubby's shoulder. "On the final float of the parade."

"Oh, brother," I hear mumbled behind me. Someone must elbow Spinelli because she says, "oof," next.

Tubby points a finger toward the parade. "There, there! See! I told you!"

We turn and see the float approaching. The mayor sits on his sleigh with a megaphone, "Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!" he shouts. "All the good boys and girls will tell their parents to vote Fitzhugh!"

Vince crosses his arms. "Man, he gets lower and lower every year."

"Too bad no one ever runs against him," Gus says. "Hey, Teej, how old do you have to be before you can run for mayor?"

And, then, without warning, Tubby darts out from under my hand and into the street to approach the float.

It's like watching my own life reenacted.

"Tubby, no!" I yell, running out behind him.

The float comes to a stop right in front of us.

Mayor Fitzhugh, to his credit, has actually dyed his hair white this year. Probably because of me. When I charged the float like Tubby did six Christmases ago, he hadn't. His hat and beard fell off while he was talking to us, displaying his chocolate brown hair and clean-shaven face.

"Oh, hello, children," he says, putting on his best Santa voice as both our groups of friends join us in the street. "What can I do for you?"

"Santa, I was wondering if you could tell my friends what I wrote on my Christmas list this year," Tubby says, so earnestly that it's hard for me to believe what Gretchen said earlier about Tubby doing this because he's doubting Santa's existence. He really does believe. "Hector, you have the list right?"

Fitzhugh coughs, clearly uncomfortable. "Well, uh, how can I recite your list if you didn't send it to the North Pole? Why don't you give it here, kiddo? That way I can make sure my elves got the memo!"

"I sent you my list in my letter, Santa," Tubby continues. "You received my letter. You wrote a reply!"

"That was your mom, Tub," Spencer mutters.

Fitzhugh starts sweating. "Oh, son, I get so so many letters. Sometimes it's hard to keep track in my head. It's why I have the elves!"

I can see the color draining out of Tubby's face, so I tug on his arm. I get Tubby out of the way so the float can continue on and pat his head.

"Oh, Tubby," I say.

"Is it true? Is Santa not real?"

Over his head, I can see TJ nodding at me. The plan failed; time to let Tubby accept the truth.

"Actually, there are a ton of imposters around this time of year," I explain. I see Vince slam his palm into his forehead. "Everyone wants to use Santa because everyone loves him! It's like when you go as your favorite superhero for Halloween!"

Tubby nods and then turns to his friends. "You know, there's one place there won't be an imposter. Santa's Village!"

He takes off, running in the direction of Townsedge Mall, his five friends on his heels. Oh, no.

"Guys, we've got to do something!"

"I dunno, Mikey," Gus says. "The mall never hires great Santas – I think Tubby's doomed."

All of us turn to TJ.

"I know what you're thinking and don't even consider suggesting it," Spinelli says, crossing her arms.

"Come on, guys. I've got a plan," he says after letting out a breath. "But, we gotta beat them there first."

Luckily, on bikes, we get to the mall with plenty of time to spare because it takes TJ a few minutes to convince the lady at the booth to take over the Village for a few minutes. But, once the grouchy mall Santa catches wind that we want to take his place for a while, he tells her to let us through. We get to the back where they have extra elf costumes lined up and Grouchy Santa lets me borrow his costume. When we step out of the makeshift locker room they've set up, I think we look pretty good.

I take a seat on the large chair as everyone else takes their places. With the elf ears and new outfits, my friends are recognizable, but not extraordinarily. Vince stands out the most, because his costume is too short, exposing a good three inches of leg between his red and green striped tights and his elf slippers.

"If this gets around school, I'm going to murder you and then I'm going to murder Tubby and it won't matter if he believes in Santa or not anymore. Got it, you big lummox?" Spinelli hisses at me.

"Hey, at least yours fits!" Vince says, trying to stretch the fabric with his hands. "I stand out like a sore thumb."

"I kind of like it," Gus says. "These pant things are comfy."

"Guys, shut up, here they come!" TJ says. "Places!"

We hide Vince behind the camera and Spinelli goes to the front kiosk. Gus, TJ, and Gretchen scatter around the roped off area, trying to stay inconspicuous. When Spinelli guides the group to my chair, I can tell the five others recognize her but Tubby is so intent on seeing Santa, he completely misses it. I breathe out a sigh of relief.

"Oh, Santa, it's really you!" Tubby says.

I clear my throat and deepen it as much as I can. "It really is. Now, why don't you good boys and girls tell me what it is you wish for this Christmas? Just so I know you haven't changed your mind from your letters."

Tubby's eyes light up. "You remember my letter?"

"Of course I do!" I say. "I remember all letters. Sometimes, children send more than one, so I always like to double check when you come to visit me."

Tubby turns to his friends. "See, guys!"

Hector gives his buddies a look to stay quiet and then smiles at Tubby. "I didn't believe it."

"Well, now you can," Tubby says. "This is Santa Claus–"

He's cut off by laughter. An all-too-familiar laughter.

"Hey, look! Spin-shorty finally found her calling!" Lawson yells. He stands near the entrance with his finger pointed out at Spinelli, his band of cronies laughing around him. "As an elf!"

"How does it feel to finally be surrounded by likeminded midgets, Spin-dwarfy?" Buster continues.

This makes Koreo fall to his knees laughing. Chucko and Jocko both hold onto Cheay.

"I'm gonna cream you losers!" Spinelli yells.

TJ has already jumped into action, but he's a split second too late because she's already jumped the makeshift fence around the Santa exhibit and has Lawson pinned to the ground. The junior starts crying out and TJ gets her off just before mall security comes running. Gretchen and Gus head over to help explain the incident and beside me Vince just throws his head in his hands.

When I look back at the crew of sixth graders in front of me, Tubby's grin has dropped from his face. The disappointment radiates from him like a cascade of heat from a fire.

"Mikey?" he asks.

"Hi, Tubby."

"So, you've been trying to fool me the whole time?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No, Tubby. Not fool you. I've been trying to keep your beliefs from waning."

He shakes his head at me. "You should have just told me the truth."

He turns and runs off, his friends running after him. Vince comes up to me and puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Come on, big guy," he says. "You tried. And your heart was in the right place. He'll see that when he's older."

"Will he, Vince?" I ask. "Will he?"

The others join us at the chair, incident resolved.

"I'm sorry, Mikey," Spinelli says, looking down at her feet.

"It's okay, my friend," I tell her. "This was my plan and you all told me it was a disastrous one. I just wouldn't listen. I think I need a walk."

TJ puts a hand on my shoulder. "You need company?"

"No, I think this walk is best done alone."

After returning the costume to its place, I wander around town, walking my bike on the sidewalk and trying to make myself feel better. It's an impossible task, my heart heavy with the realization that I let Tubby down. The rest of them were right I should have just let nature run its course, for better or for worse.

I know, deep down, I meddled because of my own previous traumas around learning of Santa's falsities. Tubby's story had struck a chord in me and I wanted so badly for Tubby to have an easier transition than I had had myself. Unfortunately, my decisions just made everything worse.

In an attempt to forget about Tubby, I head to Kelso's. I'll buy Gus's gift and at least then I'll have accomplished something important today.

I say hello to Theresa as she walks out of Kelso's with a shopping bag in one hand, a bag of chips in the other. She must have bought a gift for a friend as well. She smiles and holds the door for me with her foot. After I'm inside, I beeline it to where the model airplane set is located and my eyes widen when I see the vacant spot on the shelf.

Oh no.

Christmas karma, I suppose.

I collapse onto one of the stools at the counter. Mr. Kelso sets a frappe in front of me and when I look up, he gives me a friendly smile.

"On the house," he says. "What's got you so down, Mikey? I never see you without a smile."

"Oh, it's terrible, Mr. Kelso."

I explain everything, starting from meeting Tubby here while I was supposed to be buying Gus's gift to coming here after to find it gone and every awful thing that happened in between. When I'm done, Mr. Kelso just nods his head, taking everything in, and then leans against the counter to talk to me.

"Well, it sounds like you owe Tubby an apology," he says.

"I know."

Then he shakes his head.

"And you also know, I know you do, that the gift isn't what Gus is going to care about in the long run. It's the thought and friendship that goes into the gift that's important," he says. "So I'm not the least bit worried that you'll find Gus another perfect gift."

"It just feels like Christmas is ruined because Gus is going to get something else and it won't be as good."

"Mikey, Christmas isn't about what you see or what you receive," he says. "It's about what you do, how you feel, and what you believe. Just by buying the gift and giving it to your friend, you'll be getting at what Christmas is all about – giving."

I thank Mr. Kelso for the pep talk and finish the frappe. As I make my way home I'm still upset about the day's events and that my perfect Secret Santa gift is ruined. I keep thinking about what to do about Gus and how to apologize to Tubby, so the next few days at school I get little done. Luckily, many of my teachers also seem checked out and ready for our winter break.

By Thursday, I still haven't come to any conclusions about what to buy Gus and I still haven't apologized to Tubby. I sit on the stairs of the high school, my head in my hands, after play practice. What can I possibly do?

I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"You okay, Mikester?" TJ asks, sitting down on the steps beside me.

"What are you still doing here?" I ask.

Normally TJ flies out of school during winter sports season. He only plays football and baseball, so without practices for those, he ditches school property as soon as he can.

"Senate stuff came up," he says. "Someone had to handle it."

I chuckle at his self-deprecation. Someone, as if he's not the president of our class.

"What are you still doing here?" he counters.

I consider blowing him off, but TJ's always good for a plan. And, if not a plan, then he's pretty good at lifting people's spirits as well.

"I guess I just don't know what to do about Tubby. I know I need to apologize, but how do I apologize for ruining Christmas for someone?"

"I find that the truth is always a good place to start."

That night, as I lay in bed, I think about what to say. When I think I've finally figured it out, I close my eyes and rest. I don't have play practice again until after break, since our director is taking off early to travel for the holidays, so I use the after school time to stop by Kelso's to grab something and then head to Third Street School where I wait for Tubby to get let out of school for winter break. When he comes out of the doors, he makes a face when he sees me waiting on the sidewalk, but he comes over anyway, telling his friends he'll meet them in a bit.

"I'm still mad at you, you know," he tells me as we start our walk.

"I know," I tell him. I hold out the box I have in my hands. "But, I have a gift for you."

He takes it slowly, almost bashfully. "You didn't have to – I didn't get you anything."

"It's a simple gift," I tell him. "It doesn't need anything in return."

Tubby stops walking as he tears at the box, opening it up and removing the red Santa hat I just bought at Kelso's. He turns to me, skepticism rampant in his eyes.

"What's this?"

"Even if Santa Claus isn't a real person, doesn't mean he's not real," I say. Tubby looks confused. "I just realized this myself, actually, with the help of some friends."

"How can he be real and not real?"

"You and I both know the physics of Santa Claus doesn't exactly add up, does it?" He shakes his head in agreement and I nod to the hat. "But Santa Claus isn't really a person, he's an idea. This is a magical experience that we're able to have and when we're younger, we're on the receiving side of this gift. As we get older, and we realize no amount of magic can get one man around the globe in a single night, the tables turn. Do you see what I mean?"

He shakes his head.

"The idea of Santa, the magic you feel, that's real. And our parents bring that magic to life for us when we're small. When we grow up, we stop receiving that magic and we start giving it. We become Santa Claus ourselves," I say, touching the hat. "Now, it's our turn to keep the magic alive for the other kids."

"I think I get it now."

I put a hand on his shoulder. "Tubby, I'm sorry for what I did. All I wanted to do was to keep your magic alive for a little bit longer," I say. "But, I was being selfish by doing so. I'm sorry if I ruined Christmas for you this year."

He shakes his head and puts the hat on his head. Tubby is, and has always been, entirely too forgiving.

"You didn't, Mikey," he says. "You showed me Christmas in a whole new light. It's not about the list or the presents, is it? It's about people."

"I think you've hit it right on the head."

I walk Tubby to Kelso's, where his friends have gone ahead and gotten themselves a table. Before he goes in, he turns back to me.

"I think you're a real Santa, Mikey," he says. "You're giving, you're kind to children, and you're selfless.

I shrug and ruffle the hat on his head. "Anyone who believes in the spirit of giving, friendship, and selflessness is a real Santa."

As I say that, it sounds familiar, but I can't place where I heard it before.

My weekend is entirely too busy. Our Winter Recital for ballet is on Saturday and afterwards, as much as I want to go to the mall and find Gus's gift, I can't say no to hanging out with my friends after the performance. Spinelli and I change back into our street clothes and meet the crew over at TJ's, where he and Vince tease her about one of her scenes and she threatens to beat them within an inch of their life. Gus laughs from where he's focused on a video game and Gretchen barely looks up from her book. But, then Vince pulls out a board game and we play and chat until it's too late for me to go to the mall. On Sunday I have to go celebrate Christmas with my dad's family across the state, which leaves me Monday.

Christmas Eve.

We exchange gifts on Christmas Eve every year, usually around early afternoon or evening, depending on everyone's schedules. I have until four today to buy something for Gus and get it wrapped.

I'm at the mall the minute it opens.

This is something I've never done. Shopping on Christmas Eve just sounds like an afterthought to me – so impersonal and not at all what someone should be doing for one of their best friends. I'm upset with myself for the lack of effort and I can only hope that Gus will at least like whatever last minute gift I can scrape up in the throngs of procrastinating shoppers.

I stop in one of the game stores. We have a small limit on price, so I know I can't buy an actual game, but perhaps there's some sort of paraphernalia or a bobblehead or something. Gaming is not really my thing – that's something Gus and TJ share and, to a smaller extent, Vince. But, I know he likes that, so maybe.

I'm overwhelmed looking at all the different names – what is the one they play? World of Duty? Call of Warcraft?

Oh, sweet Christmas karma, what on earth have I done? Have I not paid my penance?

"Can I help you?"

I turn to the associate and I'm shocked to see that I recognize him. It's Skinny Santa, the guy with the red kettle. He still has a Santa hat on, but today he's sans suit and instead wears a typical store uniform. The badge he wears says STORE MANAGER. I tell him my dilemma, knowing he probably doesn't recognize me, and he suggests a few items. He also corrects my game names, so at least now I know a little bit of what I'm doing.

"Don't worry, you'll figure out the perfect gift for your friend," he reassures me. Then he turns when a mob of college-aged boys enter the store. "Just let me know if you need any assistance."

"It must stink working today," I say.

He turns back and over his shoulder says, "Santa always works on Christmas Eve."

As he walks away a piece of crumpled paper falls out of his apron. I pick it up and call out, but he's disappeared into the crowd of rowdy boys. I open the note to see if it's anything important and find it's a letter.

A letter to Santa Claus.

Dear Santa,

How are you? I'm okay, except, I just found out that I'm moving. My dad got a new job in Florida, but that's not new, is it? You know. You come to my house. It's always a different house.

All I want for Christmas this year is friends. No toys. Can you please just give me friends at my new school? I've never had friends before.

Thank you, Santa!

From, the new kid

The manager must have been meaning to throw it away. He probably found it on the floor. His store shop is right near Santa's Village – the poor kid probably dropped it on his way to see the big guy.

But, one man's trash is another man's treasure. I now know exactly what I'm going to do for Gus.

I race home from the mall with the supplies I bought at another store and use nearly all the color ink in our printer when I get home, printing picture after picture after picture. Once I've finished, the printer screaming at me to change the cartridge, I get to work on the scrapbook I've decided to make Gus, decorating the pages with pictures of us from fourth grade to now. Embarrassing pictures from our first middle school dance at Spiro T. Agnew, the gel in our hair too thick and our "Mom, you're embarrassing me for taking this photo" scowls too unbecoming. Pictures from our sixth grade field trip to the Air and Military Museum, where Gus was in his element. Pictures of Gus solo with each of us as well as group pictures. If I had thought about this earlier, I would have gotten Spinelli to help make it prettier with her art skills, but I think I do a decent job with the creativity I have.

I finish right on time. I place it in the box and then start my walk over to Third Street.

One benefit of living where we do is that it rarely snows. As unfortunate as it is that we almost never have a White Christmas, the weather is usually warm enough for us to do our gift exchanges on Old Rusty, per tradition. Today's no different. I put on my heavy coat, but it's not cold enough to require gloves or mittens as I walk.

Gus, Gretchen, and Vince have already arrived when I climb up to the top of Old Rusty.

"We're taking bets," Vince says. "How late do you think they'll be?"

TJ is notorious for being late. He and Spinelli used to run to Third Street each morning and barely make it through the doorway before the bell rang. Between the two of them, I think they had more tardies than everyone in our grade combined. That hasn't changed. Unless it's important to TJ's agenda for a plan, count on him being at least fifteen minutes late.

"I gave them the benefit of the doubt and said five minutes," Gretchen says.

"And your time is pretty much up," Vince says, smirking. "I said a half hour, Gus went twenty."

"I say that they'll be late but not too late, so how about fifteen," I say.

We all share a chuckle.

"We could just start without them, that would teach them to be on time," Vince says. "I mean, Teej has Spin anyway–"

"Wait," Gretchen says. "TJ has Spinelli?"

Vince nods. "Like you and Spin so graciously pointed out, Teej and I can't keep secrets, so yeah. I know who he has."

"Do you know what he got her?" she presses.

He raises an eyebrow. "And you were making fun of me for not keeping secrets, look at you, Nosy Nancy," he teases. "Yeah, of course I know. Spin's the easiest person to shop for – he got her some fancy colored pencils. He was done the day we drew the names."

I shake my head. "That's impossible," I say. "Because he and Spinelli were together all day after we drew names. Unless he went after the mall Santa incident."

Gus shakes his head. "Nah, we all went to TJ's after. Why would he lie to Vince like that?"

Vince, Gretchen, and I both look amongst each other.

"That little devil better have done what I think he did," Vince says. "I gave him this great idea to wrap a certain holiday plant."

"Well, if he didn't, Spinelli did," Gretchen says.

Both of us turn to Gretchen. "What?" we exclaim.

She shrugs. "Spinelli had TJ. You two aren't the only ones who discuss presents." She pushes her glasses up her nose. "Great minds think alike, Vince. I may have suggested something similar."

Gus shakes his head and jokes, "Man, who rigged that? Spinelli and TJ getting each other?"

Vince explodes with laughter at Gus's statement, despite Gus being oblivious to the double meaning of what he just said. Even Gretchen can barely hold it in, her hand over her mouth as she tries her hardest not to laugh at Gus's expense. The poor thing looks so confused. Things like this always go over his head.

Once Vince stops laughing enough to speak, he hands me a package.

"We might as well start or we'll be here forever," he says. "Merry Christmas, Mikey."

Vince gives me a beautiful new poetry notebook with my name intricately written on the cover in fancy calligraphy. Gus loves his scrapbook and barely stops looking at it to hand his present to Gretchen. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what it is – something science related – but Gretchen loves it and comments that it's something she had been looking at herself. Vince receives a baseball card for his collection, one he's been looking for and unable to find. When he comments that this card is worth way more the budget, she says she didn't pay anything for it and instead traded something of lesser value for it instead.

"Where'd you find it?" he asks.

"I never realized Menlo was such an avid baseball card collector until I saw him in the card store," she says.

Vince scoffs. "Kid doesn't even know what a baseball is."

We all turn to sit with her legs over the edge of the jungle gym, nothing left to do except chat while we wait for the other two. We discuss our holiday plans and then when we're all going to be around for the remainder of break. Vince has a basketball tournament over the weekend and we promise to go to a game. A few snowflakes begin to fall to the ground, melting as they hit the blacktop. Like most years, we won't be having a White Christmas.

"Hey, there they are!" Gus shouts, pointing toward the distance.

Vince looks down at his watch and throws his hands in the air. "I knew it! I win! I win!"

"And what exactly do you win," Gretchen teases.

He smirks at us. "Bragging rights, I guess."

When I turn back, I half-expect to see our two late friends running down the sidewalk toward the gate in the fence, but it doesn't surprise me nearly as much as I think it will when they aren't. In fact, they're doing the opposite of running as they mosey at a leisurely pace, so close they appear to be touching. It only becomes clear that they are when TJ goes to open the gate, putting a small amount of space between them, and Spinelli doesn't let go, her arm stretching away from her body.

"Wait..." Gus says slowly. "Are they holding hands?"

But, Vince and Gretchen don't answer, both already halfway down the slide, ready to bother them for details.

"Come, Gus, my friend," I say, standing to follow. "Let us go see."

We arrive to TJ and Spinelli only shortly after Vince and Gretchen. As we approach, I can hear Vince tease, "So, when did this happen?"

"Yes, inquiring minds would like to know all the details," Gretchen continues.

The two in question both have this shy smile on their faces as they look at each other. Oh, what a Christmas miracle that these two finally admitted this to each other. What sweetness in young love.

"I mean, it really wasn't that crazy," TJ says, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "I had this big plan with mistletoe and grandeur, I was going to have us stop at the Pond on the way over, and then...when she answered the door, I just blurted it out instead."

"Really romantic, every girl's dream," Spinelli deadpans, but I see her eyes twinkling in a way she would hate people to notice. "So, sorry we're late, but my mom held us hostage."

TJ chuckles. "Yeah, that's why I planned to not say anything on the porch, but it all worked out in the end." Then he turns to us, pulling a small wrapped gift out of his jacket pocket. "So, let's get going. I'm sorry you guys had to wait so long."

The four of us share a look.

"I'm so sorry!" I exclaim. "We thought, well, we realized...we already exchanged."

Gretchen hangs her head. "We figured you exchanged gifts because Vince and I both knew you had each other."

"Yeah, we, uh, thought we were teaching you guys a lesson on being late," Gus mumbles.

Vince is the only one who crosses his arms and shakes his head. "A simple help Spin's mom is holding us hostage text could have avoided this," he directs to TJ. "So, I'm not apologizing because neither of you knows how to use a phone."

Spinelli reaches forward to punch him in the arm. "Jerk," she says.

"Hey," TJ says, cutting in before the two stubborn ones of our group can get into it. "Let's go on up and we can exchange gifts up there. I'm dying to see what everyone else got."

TJ and Spinelli start for Old Rusty and the four of us follow slightly behind. As they begin their ascent to the top of the jungle gym, TJ pulls her back to steal a kiss, the two of them seemingly oblivious to the four of us watching on. I can't help the smile that forms on my face.

"I did not see this coming," Gus breathes. He looks ahead at the two, his head slightly tilted to the side, mouth slightly ajar, eyes wide.

"Oh, Gus, my friend," I say as Vince and Gretchen both laugh. "It's not always about what you see."


End file.
